


True Heart

by Rosella_Burgundy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Druids, F/M, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 23:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosella_Burgundy/pseuds/Rosella_Burgundy
Summary: Charlie needs a way to monitor and protect his dragons. Druidry could be the answer, and Pansy Parkinson is the only one that can help him find the last druid alive.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21
Collections: Pumpkin & Ginger Fall Fest





	True Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: presence of a blood ritual (dragon blood), reference to animal cruelty.
> 
> Written for Pumpkin & Ginger, a Fest brought to you by the Weasleys, Witches, & Writers Facebook Group.  
My prompt was Druidic magic. Thank you, NuclearNik, for the inspiration this prompt of yours sparked.  
Thank you, RooOJoy for listening to my whining about this story. You’re a precious Alphabeta, and I’m lucky we crossed paths.  
Credit to Dungeons & Dragons for the spell “Beast Sense” and the druid class in general which inspired the way I see Druidry in this fic.  
JK Rowling owns HP world and its characters, no profit is made from this work of fanfiction.  
One final note: I want to offer my apologies to any Scottish person that might stumble upon this fic. I did research sayings and how to recreate the accent in writing, but I'm sure I butchered it. So... sorry! Feel free to correct me.

“I’ll never be able to get this stench out of my hair.” Fingers combing through her black locks, Pansy sneered in the direction of the wizard before her. She stood on a volcanic rock, trying to keep her precious pumps out of the muddy terrain.

He turned, a copper eyebrow rising. “And here I was, wondering how you’ll ever get the stench from under your nose,” he spat out while a smirk pulled one of his freckled cheeks upward.

_ Salazar, curse his ginger genes. _Pansy tried to convey all her hatred for everything that was Weasley in a smouldering glare. He simply chuckled in response.

Huffing, she mentally went through all the reasons why her presence in this Merlin forsaken place was crucial. Her family's wizarding fashion company, Serpentine Garments, had recently launched an eco-friendly line, made of fake fur and leather. Pansy had personally charmed the plant-based fabrics to look like the real deal. Nobody was able to tell the difference. Unfortunately, her mother thought it of the utmost importance that the company became the sponsor of at least one Beast Rescue. With Pansy’s lack of luck, the choice had fallen on the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. Although her least favourite beasts had wings and long teeth, they would help the company's advertising campaign immensely.

So here she was, tagging along with Charlie Weasley. He had assured her that accompanying him on his daily rounds was the best way to take a tour of the facilities and reserve. She suspected that he took pleasure in seeing her uncomfortable while he forced her into dirty tasks. She had no idea how big the Sanctuary was until he announced that he was about to apparate them to the Berca Mud Volcanoes to check on a Hungarian Horntail that had decided to nest in that blasted inferno.

“You really should have worn trainers or hiking boots,” Charlie said, his own shoes sinking into the grey sludge below him.

Pansy stepped down and flicked her eyebrows. “These pumps are coated with a special potion to keep them from sinking into difficult terrain, there’s no need for a witch to wear mundane footwear.”

With a quick glance at her feet, Charlie sloshed away, splashing mud all over her. “Brilliant. I hope that potion of yours also repels dirt. There’s no Scouring Charm that works against this mud when it cakes around your feet.”

Walking like she was on eggshells, she ambled behind him. “Did you bring me here to make fun of me?”

He answered without turning, his timbre bore a frustrated lilt. “No. I brought you here because I need to check on the nest, and honestly, you can use some education on these beasts you are so set on using as an advertisement for your company.”

She stopped short. Cocking her head to the side, she observed his ginger locks as they swayed in the breeze. Perhaps, there were more than muscles and headlong decisions in Charlie Weasley (because she was convinced that nobody chose a career in this field after truly thinking it through). She ignored the fact that he had just called her out on her plan and stepped where his brogans had dug a dryer footing among the deeper puddles. “Then hurry up, Weasley.”

He shook his head as he stomped away, an unnecessary outburst just to get more mud on her. “The nest is near that crater over there. Do you want me to carry you, princess?”

She wished her glare could burn a hole into his thick head. “The only way I’ll let your freckled hands near me is if I die and you have to carry my dead body. And why didn't you just apparate there?”

This time, he halted his giant feet. Glancing behind his shoulder, he snickered. “Try to apparate directly on a dragon's nest. Tell me how that goes for you. Your screeches will probably piss the mummy dragon off anyway, so there’s a good chance I’ll have to drag your delicious, dead arse back after all.”

“Fuck off, Weasley.” She sped up ahead of him. This long day could not be over fast enough.

“Manners, Parkinson. If you want to look like a sophisticated lady, you should also act the part.” Pansy could feel the smirk in his voice.

“Get bent.” She gave him two fingers and followed a narrow pathway of shallow mud among the volcanic area. Her anger extinguished like a small flame in a roaring storm when she set eyes on the most dreadful scene she had ever beheld.

She couldn't move further, her pumps rooted to the ground. Behind her, Charlie gasped and swore. His long strides quickly brought him ahead of her.

The nest was empty, a lonely dead dragon stranded on her side, her belly slashed open. The beast’s orbs were still open, her gaze unseeing. Charlie sunk to his knees, his trousers soaking up mud and blood as he lost his hands among his red locks.

Pansy had never done well in times of crisis. She shone in any other circumstances, but not when it came down to consoling people or solve emotional issues. She stared, helpless, at the wizard before her as his shoulders shook with each of his sobs and whines. So she did what she knew best. She acted like a bitch.

“Are you crying, Weasley? We need to leave before whoever or whatever did this comes back,” she huffed out, her self-preservation bells chiming as loud as a boat horn.

Charlie's body went rigid. He slowly rose, his hands balled into tight fists at his side. When he turned, she saw his blue eyes glowering like icy embers. Despite that he started yelling at her, he never looked her way, like she wasn't even worth it. “Shut up, Parkinson. I know why you are here. You only want to spoil these creatures for your own pockets' sake. You aren't any better than the murderers that did this."

Without giving her time to think or blink, he rushed to her side and grabbed her arm. The spiralling pull of apparition twisted her stomach.

When they landed on the cold tiled floors at the Sanctuary's headquarters facility, he left her there, his boots leaving brown and crimson trails in his wake. What hurt the most was not the bruising mark where his hand had gripped her like a vice, but the way his words carved a bleeding wound in her chest. Pansy's gaze went lost in the intricate design of the tacky tile work beneath her feet. Her mouth fell open as she sucked in air in a heaving attempt to stop the impending panic attack that was clawing its way out of her. Weasley's accusations hit home. Her whole life, she had placed her own sake before everyone else's.

Flashes of her past danced before her eyes. She saw Draco in their sixth year. His pale, shrinking frame was haunting as she watched herself gravitating further and further away from him and his family. She abandoned him when he needed her the most just to keep herself and her parents safe from Voldemort's grasp. The same happened when she suggested the surrender of Harry Potter in front of the entire school that had gathered in the Great Hall before the Final Battle. Now, she was doing the same thing to the dragons, using their image to make bloody Galleons for her family's business. 

Her eyes burned in shame. Tears of anger carved her skin like acid rivers while they slithered down her cheeks. She was better than that. Deep down, she knew there was a little basin of empathy in a sea of self-preservation.

Knuckles white and lips pursed, she stepped along Charlie's footprints. They soiled the floors down a dim hallway and stopped by a large wooden door. Muffled voices echoed from the other side.

“The poachers have not entered the Sanctuary in years." A deep manly voice with a thick Eastern European accent stated.

“I can’t believe they killed her for her eggs.” A female whispered softly.

Pansy opened the door and entered, not caring about invading a private meeting without a formal invitation. Her pureblood ancestors frowned upon her.

"We need to find out what happened." Charlie was pacing the length of the large office, his tall frame casting gloomy shadows on the wooden floor.

Upon a quick survey, Pansy decided that the first voice that had spoken belonged to the Head of the Sanctuary. The bald man sat behind his desk, a forlorn look on his face. Two younger tamers, a woman and a man, leant on the desk, following Charlie with their eyes.

"Most importantly," Charlie continued, "we have to find means to check on the dragons' safety at all times. Muggles have camerons or something like that. I could ask my dad to look into it since he-"

The words failed him when he laid eyes on Pansy. He glared, and the other three observed her too. About time they noticed she was standing at the threshold. She hadn't been delicate when swinging the door inward.

Fighting a blush, she stepped in the middle of the room. "Druidic magic."

Charlie crossed his muscled arms over his wide chest. "What are you on about?"

Her eyes fixed on him, doing her best to fare the scowl he bore. "Old, druidic rituals are what you are looking for."

She ignored the snicker from the younger tamers and their whispers behind her back. She knew that druids weren't exactly a common sight these days. The last known practitioner was thought to have died during the time of the founders, and the last recorded druidic ritual had been performed to tie Slytherin's mind to his most precious possession, the Basilisk.

She also knew all that to be rubbish. The druid that performed that ritual was of the Dornoll clan, and to save the family's image, she went into hiding after the fall of the castaway founder. The druid had passed down the knowledge of his witchcraft to his firstborn child, who in turn trained her own firstborn. And so it went on and on until more recent times. No trace was left in writing. The tradition was kept secret by not recording the teachings.

Pansy was privy to all this because her own mother had been a Dornoll before becoming Lady Parkinson in a marriage of convenience. Her great grandfather's older brother was the last druid still breathing on the entire European continent. He was elderly, but he still practised the ancient druidic magic somewhere in the wilderness of Scotland. It was the family secret, and she'll be punished for spoiling it, but old uncle Erwen was childless and grumpy, so Pansy had no qualms about using her family's knowledge to help the dragons and the obnoxious twat that was Charlie Weasley.

"Druids are an extinct class of magic practitioners." The Sanctuary's Head said, a thick eyebrow rising to mark his scepticism.

Pansy shook her head, her gaze still on Charlie. "I know someone that can help you monitor the dragons."

Charlie was motionless, his blue eyes were frozen in thought. Pansy saw doubt in him, but also interest, so she pressed on to bring him on her side. "If you provide him with some of the dragon's blood, he might be able to tell you what happened to her."

Charli’s head sunk downwards, his gaze falling to the bloodstains on his knees.

"How do you know this person?" Charlie's question was clear of doubts, and she smiled because she knew that she had him.

"He's a family member."

One nod and he was set on it. "Boss, I'll owl my dad about those camerons. I don't want to rely solely on Parkinson, but I will look into what she's suggested."

Charlie ignored the muffled protestations from the two Romanian tamers and his superior and walked out of the meeting room, beckoning Pansy to follow with a head tilt.

Pansy suffocated a chuckle. She could not believe Charlie's insubordination. In her circles, such behaviour would be punished on the spot, but tamers and magizoologists were all a bunch of egalitarian hippies and didn't care much for control and power. Hence her lack of surprise when the Head of the Sanctuary pleaded after them, "Please, keep me posted, Weasley."

* * *

Charlie loved the way the dried leaves crinkled under his footsteps as he roamed the woods. There was something soothing in the forest that made his heart content. The way the tree branches casted vibrating shadows on the ground and the natural song of the wind were a balm to his aching heart.

Losing Kala, the oldest Horntail in the Sanctuary, had been a trying blow, and he was still wary of this plan that the bint walking in front of him had concocted.

Listening to Parkinson recounting centuries of family history had been as boring as an Ancient Runes translation, but at least it had put him in a better predisposition towards the witch. The purpose of helping his creatures seemed to damper the shrills of her girly voice like a pair of muffling earplugs.

Even now, she was babbling about something related to functional gear wear and fashion, so Charlie focused his gaze and thoughts on her juicy, swaying arse.

He hadn't known her before she landed at the Sanctuary with her obnoxious clickety-clackety shoes and sinful lips. He had heard her name in his siblings' annoyed retelling of the way some Slytherins made their life difficult at Hogwarts. Honestly, he had never paid enough attention to what Parkinson did to stir such hatred. He guessed it must have been something vile, as she appeared to be a selfish bitch, to use kind words. He hadn't been able to pinpoint what she was trying to gain from helping him finding a druid, but he figured he would find out soon enough.

At least she was a pleasure to look at with a petite body, long black locks, and big tits. As she bent over a fallen tree trunk to climb over it, he smirked to himself and bit his lower lip when her already tight trousers adhered more to her buttocks to reveal the thin lines of a g-string. He wondered if he could get something out of this forced partnership as well, and maybe find out her motives in the process.

Mourning the loss of the sight upon her rear side, he jumped over the trunk and sauntered next to her. He wasn't very good with witches since he much preferred the company of the less dangerous dragons, but he wasn't blind. He was well aware that his muscles made many of them swoon. So he took off his wool pullover and pushed up the sleeves of his cotton shirt. The hike made him hot anyway.

"So, Parkinson, what do you think I should wear that you would dim worthy of your fashion company?"

He had no idea what she had been saying to him, but he had listened enough to make up something about tamers and their lack of class.

Her eyes scanned him up and down, lingering on his swollen arms. A delicious blush coloured her high cheeks.

"As I was saying, and you would know if you listened, tamers could at least match colours. For example, you can't wear a moss pair of workwear trousers and a peach shirt. It makes my eyes sore. The Sanctuary would look more like a worthy establishment if you all wore the same uniform."

Merlin, she talked so much. "Are you trying to sell one of your lines to us?"

Her blush turned a shade darker. "Actually, I'm trying to teach you some simple fashion etiquette. We will have to postpone though, my uncle lives over there."

Charlie followed her long finger and found a mound of dirt, foliage, and sticks. It looked like the burrow of some sort of creature, possibly a Niffler or a Puffskein.

"Uncle Erwen?" Pansy tapped on the crumbling roof of the dirt structure.

"A need no nyaffs around. Bugger off." An ominous, stentorian voice resounded inside the dwelling.

Pansy crossed her arms and straightened her long neck. In the worst imitation of a Scottish accent Charlie had ever witnessed, she said, "Dinna fash yersel, uncail Erwen!"

The laughter that bubbled up his chest was boisterous and honestly offensive, but watching a self-proclaimed pureblood lady speaking in a forced Scottish accent was utterly hilarious.

She glared at him, her dark eyes sparkled with a sinister light. "Weasley, do you want to learn druidic magic or not?"

With a crash, the side of the burrow flung open. Dust and a musty smell were all that Charlie could sense at first, but soon, the hunched frame of an old man emerged from the hole.

"Who dares speak of the ancient craft?" His English was barely understandable.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "My name is Pansy Parkinson. We met when I was a child. My mother was born Elaine Dornoll. This is-"

The man seized her chin with crooked fingers, his filthy, long fingernails trailing along her jaw. He appraised her features as if he were studying something precious. Pansy flinched back, and he brought his hand to smooth his long smoky beard that trickled down to his brown robes.

"A was waiting for ye. A sent several letters to yer mum. Finally, a Dornoll heir has come to claim the family legacy. Mother Nature could use some help these blasted days."

Charlie felt a pang of sadness for that old man. He had no idea that the woman before him couldn't care less for ancient rituals and nature. By the way Pansy's eyes opened wide, he could tell that those letters never made it to her manicured hands.

"Who's the nyaff?" Dark, ancient irises suddenly set on Charlie, and he shivered as the man pointed his staff at him. Crystals and trinkets jingled and echoed in the forest.

"This is Charles Weasley. He's a dragon tamer at the Sanctuary in Romania. He's the one who wishes to learn how to connect with animals."

Erwen chuckled, the sound reverberating among the trees like a cavernous rumble. "Yer oot yer face if ye think a will teach this dobber Druidry."

Charlie puffed his chest. He was not going to let this man insult him so. To the wind his mother's recommendations about respecting the elders and sages. "Sir, I only wish to learn a way to keep the dragons safe. I'm no expert, but I know that helping nature and creatures is one of the intents of Druidry. Parkinson will not do it. She has more pressing matters to attend."

With the corner of his eyes, he saw Pansy lowering her head in shame. Perhaps, he had been too harsh, but he needed those rituals.

Reaching to the bag at his side, he slipped out the trousers he was wearing when they found Kala dead. "The poachers’ number is on the rise. They killed a mother and sacked her nest. If they're getting as bold as entering the Sanctuary, it means the number of dragons in the wild is dwindling. And there's plenty of other evidence I can provide for that. I need to keep them safe!"

Erwen summoned the garment which flew out of Charlie's hands. His eyes never left him as he sniffed the bloodstains. His tongue darted out to taste it, and he gasped as the realisation came upon him. "Come inside."

Pansy scrunched her nose in disgust as he took off his brown, pointy hat. The grey, matted hair beneath stayed in place, glued by years of dirt and unkemptness. The house, if it could be called such, was in no better state. The floor was littered with potion ingredients and shrubs. Remnants of meals and bones were scattered around and made Charlie's attempt to reach the old chair made of twigs that Erwen had offered very arduous.

Pansy pulled her chair close to him and sat perfectly still as though she were afraid that breathing in the mouldy air would turn her into a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Charlie relaxed back and glanced at her sideways, a corner of his lips rising. He was enjoying her distress.

Erwen swayed his staff above a fire pit made out of a pile of burning twigs in the middle of the room. As a cauldron flew over it from a dusty corner, the ceiling opened up to form a breathing hole for the smoke. While the old man was gathering supplies in his messy cupboard, the cauldron filled with water that was swiftly brought to a boil.

Pansy's uncle tossed a black powder in the cauldron, and she jolted in her chair when the water hissed and bubbled. With an incantation Charlie had never heard, the druid charmed his soiled trousers, and they disappeared, leaving a myriad of dragon blood droplets to hover in the room. One by one, they dropped into the brewing potion, sizzling and dispersing like rain hitting the ocean.

"Ready," Erwen whispered, his eyes shining of a burgundy reflection coming from the dense, sticky surface of the finished concoction.

With a ladle, he took a sip. His body went stiff, his eyes veiling of something arcane and spirited. Dancing frantically, his pupils roamed a sight that Charlie could not see. Not a sound elicited from him, and there was no reaction from the druid until he sagged to the ground, gasping and coughing.

Charlie hurried at the old man's side and hauled him off the dirt.

"Merlin's baws!" Erwen muttered under his moustaches, heaving for air and clutching Charlie's forearm to stabilize his balance.

Taking a deep breath, the druid scaffolded to the centre fire. After tapping the rim of the cauldron with his adorned staff, the druid filled two canteens with the liquid and handed them to Charlie and Pansy. "Drink," he instructed.

"You are barmy." Pansy crossed her arms, hiding her hands from the fiendish sludge.

"Not before you explain how this potion works," Charlie demanded while he peeked in the canteen with suspicion.

Erwen's face scrunched in a stern grudge. "I thought you came all the way from Romania to find out what happened to Kala the Horntail."

That was all Charlie needed to make up his mind. If the potion told the druid the name of his beloved dragon, it meant it could show him what happened to Kala.

In a single gulp, he downed the druidic concoction. It burned and stung, clawing its way down his throat. It bubbled in the pit of his stomach, hissing and warming his guts. A spiralling pull twisted his conscious, and the last thing Charlie saw was Pansy's scared eyes as she launched in his direction, a hand that never reached him stretching out.

* * *

She had always known that Gryffindors were morons, but she had never fathomed admiring one of them for their courage.

As she held Charlie's hand while he got his bearings back after the vision of the dragon killing, she felt a soothing pride toward him. Risking being poisoned to find out what happened to a dead animal was by far the most nauseating act of altruism she had ever witnessed.

A lone tear fell from his sapphire eyes, and she involuntarily caught it with a finger. It felt heavy like it was full of dread and death.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," Pansy whispered as he looked up at her. Her apology stemmed from both the guilt she felt for wanting to use the dragons and her cowardice regarding the potion.

To her uncle’s disappointment, she had not drunk it. Erwen had kept his gaze on her since, his beard making it impossible to read him.

Charlie's lips distended into a tight smile, and he let her hand go.

Erwen finally moved his scrutinizing gaze away from Pansy.

"Do you know those bawbags?" he snapped.

"The poachers were English. It's a known gang that has been operating in Europe since the Statue of Secrecy enactment. They had never attacked the Sanctuary before, but the McFusty clan in the Hebrides has fought them. I'll contact them."

Erwen clicked his tongue. "It's always the Englishmen. They stick their crooked noses where they don't belong and sniff out what's not theirs."

Charlie seemed lost in his mind for a moment, his large shoulders rising and dropping as he sighed.

"Druid, Parkinson mentioned a way to monitor the dragons without having to be physically there. Can you teach me? Would you help me protect these creatures?"

Erwen’s eyes snapped back to her, and her soul felt torn apart, dissected like a Revealing Charm had been cast on her skin.

"I could link you to a single dragon, but I suspect it wouldn’t be enough to monitor the vastity of the Sanctuary. Only a druid can perform the Beast Sense spell that allows you to see through the eyes of any creature at will. Only a druid can learn it. No way around the craft. It's all or nothing."

"You are not making any sense, old man." Charlie rubbed the back of his head.

Pansy unravelled the druid's words before he could speak again. "He wants me to embrace the family tradition. He intends to teach me his craft and pass it on."

"But you won't do it." Spreading his arms, Charlie stated a well-known fact. A faint blush of frustration spread across his features.

With a little shrug, Pansy explained, "I'd be a horrible druid, and you know it. I can see the importance of your purpose. Creatures need protection, but I'm not cut out for this simple life."

Unable to meet Charlie's gaze, she began pacing the small circular space, observing the shadow cast by the swaying flames of the fire pit. Helping the dragons could be her chance at redemption, her way to prove to the world that she wasn't only a vane business owner, but she couldn't abandon all that she had built after the war. She was still set on getting Weasley what he needed, so she begged, "Uncle, please help Weasley with that spell."

A smile that reached Charlie's red ears split his face in two, and her heart fluttered. "Erwen, hear me out. I'd be very interested in learning druidic magic. All of it. Would you consider teaching me, instead?"

Pansy gazed at him, and for a moment their eyes connected and mutual understanding and respect passed through.

Tapping on his lips, Erwen pondered for what seemed like an eternity. "A would be willing to do it on one condition. Pansy will accompany me to the Sanctuary every day for as long as it requires me to instruct you."

"I'll set up a Portkey. She'll do it. Thanks, Parkinson." Charlie spat out, and the moment they had shared was gone, replaced by Pansy’s fury at his cheekiness.

"Did your red hair suck all the blood out of your thick skull?" Pansy shrilled. How dare he make decisions in lieu of her.

"What's the matter, Parkinson? You are the one that suggested all this to help the dragons. I'm sure we can agree on a schedule."

Glaring at him, Pansy turned to the dirt door and stomped her feet on her way out. At the threshold, she stopped short. Weasley had a point. Her heart was already set on its altruistic course, so she set aside her anger at being manipulated by a Weasley.

* * *

Pansy had kept her word. Every day, she had come to the Sanctuary with her clickety-clackety heels and her uncle Erwen who turned out to be the most powerful wizard Charlie had the honour to learn from.

Day by day, Charlie had grown fond of her, and not only because she graced him with all kinds of outfits that enhanced her cleavage and arse. There was something in her that drew him in. Something deeper than the sharpness of her mind and her dry snark that made his body react in ways that were all but appropriate, to say the least. He hadn't been able to grasp what it was in Pansy Parkinson that lured him in until he could finally master the spell that granted him access to the beasts' senses.

When he cast the Beast Sense spell for the first time, Charlie’s soul ascended from his body and his conscious fused with the mind of one of the dragons at the Sanctuary. In all his studies, he had learned that those creatures could read predispositions and determine someone's worthiness. Being the dragon, Charlie could observe what laid beneath the flesh of people's hearts. 

As he hovered over the dense forest surrounding the Sanctuary, he saw her. She was sitting on her heels next to Charlie's own body. Erwen stood still, leaning against a tree with his eyes cast to the sky where Charlie’s essence flew with a huge Hebridean Black.

The druid’s body shone of white, pale light. It was no big surprise that the heart of an animal lover like Erwen was pure and blinding.

From far up in the sky, he couldn’t make up what Pansy’s soul truly looked like. So he descended below the tree line, wings folding to fit among the myriad of branches that formed the trees canopy. When his talons hit the ground, the earth rumbled with a shuttering earthquake.

Charlie shook his enormous spiked head, the scales on his neck shaking along with the waves of the muscles beneath. Smoke curled out of his nostrils as he huffed out the effort of landing in a small place.

Pansy sprung up and took a step back, a hand clutching her wand at her thigh holster. Her chest was rising and sinking in an erratic pattern. She was scared, but Charlie ignored it. He didn’t notice the way she bit her lip as he stalked towards her, nor did he hear her asking for her uncle’s help. His full attention was on her heart, her true heart.

A silver and ruby brightness sparkled in the middle of her chest as though a white fire were consuming her. It was dazzling and enticing. It pulled all the right strings in a dragon’s greedy heart. There were ambition and determination in her, but he already knew about those. What he had not been ready to find were the blind loyalty to her cherished ones and love itself.

There was so much love in Pansy’s heart that it seemed like it could burst out of her chest. The dragon knew what that love burned for; it was for her family, her company, and the dragons she was so set on aiding. There were no ulterior motives that drove her or tainted her actions. With a thrill, Charlie spotted another crimson dancing flame; it bore the features of a specific wizard, and he could not keep his focus any longer.

With a jolt, his consciousness snapped back into its rightful place. Still groggy, he stumbled on his feet and rose a hand to calm the Black that was still in front of Pansy.

The dragon stretched her wings and took off, the wind from her powerful ascent creating a vortex of leaves and dust around Pansy.

Leaflets were still dancing around her when he grabbed her and turned her to face him.

“Pansy, I’m in love with you too.” His heart boomed while he confessed it.

Pansy’s eyes searched his face, the darkness of her irises shining of the blush below them. “How do you know that I-” Tugging him by his shirt, she pulled him towards her. “Oh, whatever…” she muttered on his lips before he lifted her up to gain better access to her mouth.

While Charlie was lost on her sinful lips, he vaguely heard a low chuckle on his right.

“The craft might stay in the family after all…” the druid declared.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I welcome your opinion :)  
If the crazy Uncle Erwen sounded somehow familiar, it's because the author that inspired me to write his character is a rather famous one. Have you heard of Radagast The Brown, a creation of Tolkien? All hail the king of fantasy. I take no credit.


End file.
